


Gentle Sin

by QueenOfCarrotFlowers



Series: Carrot's Romance Fics [8]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers/pseuds/QueenOfCarrotFlowers
Summary: Rey is writing a new song, maybe Ben can help.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Carrot's Romance Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801348
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	Gentle Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceciliasheplin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceciliasheplin/gifts).



> This is a treat for ceciliasheplin! Thanks to flypaper_brain for the beta.
> 
> The prompt is "Ben is an ex-con coming home on parole. Rey is a talented, poor singer/song-writer who's staying at Ben's parents' house." 
> 
> This story is a tiny bit dark and mentions past crimes, but Rey and Ben are totally sweet for (although maybe a tiny bit obsessed with) each other.
> 
> Both Rey's song and Ben's poem are actually Hozier lyrics, because that's what I like. I hope you enjoy, ceciliasheplin!! Thank you for being you 💕💕💕
> 
>   
>    
> 

Rey tucked the pencil back behind her ear, balanced her guitar on her lap, double-checked the notes she’d just made in her notebook, and started the first verse of her new song again. 

_I still watch you when you're groovin'_

_As if through water from the bottom of a pool_

_You're movin' without movin'_

_And when you move, I'm moved_

As she sang - a slow, soulful melody that she wasn’t quite happy with yet - her mind drifted to Ben. The song was about him. Ben was the son of Han and Leia, the older couple Rey’d been renting a room from for the past six months. They were fine, kind of old hippies - Leia’s brother, Luke, would come over on Sundays and the three of them would go in the basement and smoke weed, leaving Rey to herself in the old, quiet house. She spent the time working on her songs, which was what she was doing now: sitting in the den with only the leaf-dappled sunlight coming in through the window to keep her company. 

_You are a call to motion_

_There, tweedle tweedle bah in perfect view_

_Like Jonah on the ocean_

_When you move, I'm moved_

Ben had been there for about two weeks. He was just out of prison, on parole for some uncertain crime that her hosts would only speak about in whispers when she wasn’t close enough to hear. It was serious enough to have kept him away for a few years, but it obviously wasn’t murder, and Rey had known her share of convicts and former convicts in her life, so she wasn’t too bothered by that. She wasn’t much bothered by him at all, which itself bothered her, just a little. He was quiet and seemed polite, although he never spoke to her. He'd said “Hi” when they met and that was about it. His room was in the attic, and sometimes she heard him moving around up there late at night, but he mostly seemed to avoid her, which was fine. It was fine. 

But sometimes… sometimes he would go outside, he would throw the frisbee for the dog and run down to the creek and back, or he’d try to climb the big oak tree in the middle of the back yard, and she’d sit by the window and watch him while she jotted down lyrics in her battered notebook. She liked to watch him move, that was all. He was tall and big - so big - but he moved like water, or like wind, or a symphony. She loved to watch him move, and she wanted to write a song about him. And that was it.

She paused and slumped over the guitar, staring at the messy lines in her notebook. The rest of the lyrics were mostly written, but that one line had been giving her grief for days - she just couldn’t find the right words to express exactly what she wanted them to. A blast of wind shook the tree outside the window, and the sunlit shadows of the leaves played across the floor. The house creaked, and a muted bark of laughter floated up through the floor.

Rey sensed his presence a half-second before he spoke. 

“I like that song.”

Ben was leaning against the door jamb, filling the doorway, arms crossed lazily in front of his chest. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black tee shirt with a rip along the bottom hem that made a small hole, through which she could just glimpse the pale skin of his stomach. He was staring at her, unsmiling, and the intensity of his gaze unnerved her, made her stomach tighten up. It did other things to her, too, but she tried to ignore it. She couldn’t avoid the flush that heated up her cheeks, though. 

“Uh, thanks,” she replied. “It’s just a little thing I’m working on.”

He nodded and offered her a little smile. “Yeah, the _tweedle tweedle_ gave away its status as a work in progress.”

“I guess it did.” Rey didn’t think her face could get any redder if she wanted it to. She was relieved that he’d opted to stay in the doorway. “Sorry, but I’m trying to work, do you mind?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to leave - she probably didn’t - but she knew that if he stayed she wouldn’t be able to write, and she really wanted to finish at least the first verse of this song. Ben’s presence should have been inspirational - he was her muse, after all - but in reality, up close, he was proving to be very distracting.

He didn’t leave, though. He took a step into the room.

“I will leave, if you really want me to,” he said, uncrossing his arms, “but I’ve been known to dabble in a bit of poetry. I might be able to help you with the _tweedle tweedle_.” As he said the nonsense words he wiggled his fingers at her, and she could see exactly how large his hands were. Had she ever really noticed them before? His palms were wide and his fingers were long and thick, and it turned out Rey’s face _could_ get hotter after all.

“You can stay. It’s just that one line that’s giving me grief.”

She expected him to sit down next to her on the old plaid sofa, there was plenty of room, but instead he stepped slowly across the room, towards the window that faced the side of the house. He glanced out, and the shifting light danced across his face.

“Sing it again?”

Rey shook her head to clear it and started the verse over. She felt nervous but the nerves didn’t make their way into her voice or her fingers, and she made it through the two stanzas well enough. 

_I still watch you when you're groovin'_

_As if through water from the bottom of a pool_

_You're movin' without movin'_

_And when you move, I'm moved_

_You are a call to motion_

_There, tweedle tweedle bah in perfect view_

_Like Jonah on the ocean_

_When you move, I'm moved_

“Sing the line again.”

His tone reminded her of her music teacher in high school, but instead of annoying her - because of her talent she and her high school music teacher had spent a lot of time together, but Rey had been _really_ annoyed by the overbearing woman - it eased her, somehow, made her feel more comfortable. She sang the line again:

_There, tweedle tweedle bah in perfect view_

“The song’s about movement, isn’t it,” he murmured. “You’re watching, they’re moving, you’re trying to explain how that movement makes you feel. Aren’t you.” His honey gaze made her head swim. Did he know the song was about him? How could he possibly know?

“That’s right,” she answered. “I’ve tried a bunch of different things - something with _tree_ , but that’s too concrete. _Song_ is nice but it’s not _right_ , you know?”

“I know what you mean. You need a word that implies that kind of physical movement. Does something with _dance_ work?”

Rey tried it, and they both shook their heads.

“Not right,” she said, and started the verse again. As she sang, Ben hummed and walked gracefully across the floor, almost like he was dancing, and her eyes were drawn to him; the smoothness of his steps, how his muscles shifted under his clothes.

"Verb," he said confidently when she had finished. "Action words, movement words."

"Maybe," Rey mumbled, and tried it.

_There, all of you a verb in perfect view_

"That's perfect!" Rey exclaimed. “Thank you.”

Ben gave her an exaggerated little bow. "My pleasure."

Rey set the guitar down on the floor, it's neck leaning against the edge of the sofa.

“So you’re a poet?” She asked, crossing her legs under her peasant skirt and leaning back. He stared at her for just a few seconds longer than was comfortable before he answered.

“I wouldn’t say that. I just read a bit of it.” He took a few steps towards the door, and then back again, and moved his jaw in a way that was familiar to Rey from her hours of studying him out the window. It looked like he was chewing his words, weighing them, trying to decide whether to spit them out or swallow them down. “I, uh, took a class when I was in prison. A professor from the community college came and we read poems and talked about them, and after that I started writing my own.”

He stopped his pacing and looked down at her. For the first time in the few weeks she’d been watching him he looked fearful, almost nervous. Like he was afraid she might reject him because he’d been in prison. She’d _known_ he’d been in prison, and she was still here, talking to him. He had no idea.

She could tell him.

It was a ridiculous thought - this was the first time she’d talked to him, she couldn’t just tell him her deepest, darkest secret - so she shoved it right back down.

“That’s good,” she said. “I never got to take a class like that, just regular high school. I read a lot of poetry too, though.”

“Didn’t you study poetry in school?”

“Sure, in English class, but nothing intensive, you know.”

Ben took a few steps towards her, and then dropped to his knees. It surprised her, but she realized he probably did it because he’d been looming over her - but now he was lower, looking up at her. She liked him like that; it gave her ideas.

“I know I’ve only heard a few lines of your song, but the lyrics are great. _When you move, I move_ , I can feel that.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. 

He didn’t say anything else. He looked at her, shook his dark hair back from his face, clenched and unclenched his hands a couple of times where they rested on his thighs. Even slouched on the floor he was big, wide; Rey watched the muscles in Ben’s hands and forearms as he drew his fingers in and out of the fists. Another puff of wind blew the sunlight in patterns across the floor and the wall, and highlighted the gold in Ben’s eyes. A shout from the basement broke the silence.

“I almost killed a man,” he eventually said, so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly at first. 

“You almost killed a man?”

“Yeah. I punched him until he fell down, and then I kicked him until somebody pulled me off him. That’s why I was in prison.”

Rey shifted, tucked her feet under her butt. “What did he do to deserve that?”

Ben shrugged. “He didn’t. He was just an asshole.” He clenched his fists one more time, then let them loose. “Does that bother you?”

“No.” 

His whole body shifted as his muscles relaxed. “Okay. Good.”

“We’ve all done things that could get us in trouble, Ben.” It was the first time she’d ever said his name out loud, and she loved the way it felt tripping off her tongue. She wanted to say it again. His head snapped up at the sound of it, and something deep inside her loosened.

“Have you done something bad, Rey?”

“Probably.”

“Do you want to tell me?” He shuffled closer, until he was only inches from the sofa. She could have reached out and touched his hair, laced her fingers through his tresses, tugged it taut. 

_Yes_. The whisper of a thought crossed her mind. She let it pass.

“Maybe,” she replied, uncrossing her legs and lowering her feet to the floor, one on either side of him; her bare calves pressed against the couch, her peasant skirt pooling in her lap. Ben lifted his hands off his thighs and slowly, carefully, placed them on her knees. They were exactly as warm as she expected them to be. He gazed up at her, his expression uncertain. 

“What do you want, Rey?” He whispered, as though he might be afraid of the answer.

“I want you to tell me one of your poems. Do you have one for me?”

“I do.” Ben licked his lips. His mouth was wide, and his lips were pink and plush. She thought they would be nice to kiss, that they would feel good pressed against her skin. Rey had spent a great deal of time thinking about Ben’s lips over the past few weeks, and she enjoyed watching them move as he spoke to her. She wanted to watch them more. “I have one I’ve been writing, if you want to hear it.”

“Please.” Rey set her hands on top of Ben’s, and gently pulled them higher onto her thighs.

He swallowed, glanced down at her skirt, and back up to her face. 

“How old are you?”

She smiled, stroked her thumbs across his knuckles. “I turned twenty in August.”

His face softened with relief, and he pushed the tips of his fingers into the meat of her legs just enough to make her squirm. “You look younger than that.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that. Once had a guy in a 7-11 hit on me and when he found out I was nineteen instead of fourteen he took off.”

Something dark flashed behind Ben’s eyes, something protective and a little dangerous. Nobody had ever looked at Rey like that before and it made her feel very warm inside. He did the thing with his mouth again, and she laughed.

“It was fine. He took off, right? Anyway, what about that poem?” She slowly lifted her hands up and placed them next to her on the sofa, leaning back into the lumpy cushion.

Ben’s fingers relaxed, his thumbs stroked down towards her knee and back up again. He licked his lips again and then he began to speak in a lyrical sort of way. He wasn’t singing, exactly, but it was different from his usual speaking voice. It was melodic, and Rey liked it.

_My lover's got humor_

_She's the giggle at a funeral_

_Knows everybody's disapproval_

_I should've worshiped her sooner_

He pushed his hands further up her legs - not much, maybe half an inch - his thumbs continuing their slow caress. Rey lifted her hips and bent her knees, bringing her feet closer to Ben and pushing her legs further apart in the process.

“You want to worship your lover, huh?” Rey asked. 

Ben nodded and shifted his hands again, so they rested atop Rey’s inner thighs. 

“I’d like to,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes, “if she’d let me.” He lowered his eyes to her skirt, bunched up in front of her crotch.

He started the next stanza.

_If the Heavens ever did speak_

_She is the last true mouthpiece_

_Every Sunday's getting more bleak_

_A fresh poison each week_

Ben’s eyes were on her as the tips of his fingers reached the edge of her skirt. He paused, his chest heaving, eyes dark. 

“Please,” he whispered. Rey lifted her knees up, and set her heels on the edge of the sofa. The movement pulled her skirt up far enough to expose what was beneath it to the cool air of the room. Ben’s hands stayed still and allowed Rey to move beneath him; by the time she’d settled herself his hands were resting on the backs of her thighs. Rey looked down at her lap, and Ben’s eyes followed.

“Oh,” he said, then again, “ _Oh._ Oh fuck.” He shifted his hands again, so his palms cradled her thighs at their apex, and he pushed them apart. He leaned forward, and Rey felt his warm breath against the lips of her very wet, very naked pussy. “Jesus, Rey, your pussy is gorgeous. You smell _amazing_.” 

“Poem,” she said.

He kept his face in her lap, rubbed the tip of his nose in the crease of her thigh as he recited the next lines. The caress tickled, and she tried to wiggle against him, but he held her steady. His voice was muffled by the sofa cushion and her body, but he spoke clearly enough that she could hear him well.

_"We were born sick", you heard them say it_

_My church offers no absolutes_

_She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom"_

_The only Heaven I'll be sent to_

_Is when I'm alone with you_

He paused, and before she realized what was happening he licked a hot stripe up her slit. The tip of his tongue started all the way down, almost at her puckered hole, and he took his sweet time working his way from there, slowly sweeping across her opening and nipping at her lips on the way, finally, to her clit, which he latched onto and gave a sinful suck - until Rey, with pained slowness, reached down, gently placed her hands on either side of his head, and pushed him away. He lifted his head without complaint, and came up with his mouth and cheeks shining, a euphoric glaze across his eyes. She hated to do it - his tongue was perfect, and she could tell that he could make her come like that very quickly - but she wanted to hear the rest of that poem. His fingers took the place of his mouth, and she couldn’t help her gasp and the flex of her hips as the tip of one of his fingers gently breached her.

“More poem,” she breathed, pleased that she was still coherent. He took a moment to settle his thumb over her clit and returned to his recitation.

_I was born sick, but I love it_

_Command me to be well_

_Amen, Amen, Amen_

Ben pressed his finger, the tip of which he’d been twisting tenderly just inside her entrance, in just far enough that he could crook it up and skim her g-spot. That light touch, paired with this thumb pressing her clit, was enough to make Rey gasp and thrust her hips up. He tutted and pressed the palm of his other hand against her mons to hold her down.

“Now now, Rey, don’t get too excited. We’ve only just started.”

Rey nodded and grasped at the scratchy fabric of the sofa but came up empty handed, and settled for digging her fists into the cushion instead.

“Feels good,” she whined, bending her legs to open herself to him as much as she could. He stroked inside her again, harder this time, but he was holding her down firmly enough that she couldn’t do more than wiggle.

“Yeah? Good. I want to make you feel good, Rey.”

Every time Ben said her name Rey grew a little bit weaker, and the possessive look in his eye only contributed to the lightheadedness that was taking over her entire being. The poem was doing something to her, too. It felt as though he was reaching into her soul, grasping the very essence of it, and reflecting it back at her in words. The poem was a song, and she wanted to listen to it every day from now until the end of her life. She would remember this afternoon on her deathbed.

Ben recited the next lines in time with the stroking of his fingers.

_Take me to church_

_I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

_I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Good God, let me give you my life_

Rey unclenched her fists and reached around to grab her butt cheeks, spreading herself even wider. Ben swore and pulled his finger out, replacing it seconds later it with two. She shuddered and cried out at the stretch, and he attacked her g-spot and clit with a new level of gusto, although his other hand still held her down. His eyes, which had been gazing between her legs with hunger, flicked back to her face. He looked as though he wanted to eat her, to slice her open and devour her, just so he could fill her up and do it all over again - and she wanted it.

"You still enjoying this?"

"Poem's good, yeah," she managed to whine, and he thanked her by removing both of his hands, grabbing her right wrist and lifting it off her butt, and giving the exposed cheek a sharp smack with his wet hand. Rey yelped and he plunged his fingers back into her, but this time he wrapped his hand around her thigh instead of pressing on her mons, which left her free so move about a bit more. She took advantage of her newfound freedom by thrusting against his hand.

"You're a fucking brat," he breathed. 

"I am."

"I like it." He licked his lips, those sinful, plush lips, and lifted his thumb off her clit, leaving his fingers pressing gently against her g-spot. She whined and wriggled, but this time he held her tight. "Are you close?"

Rey threw her head back; she was ready to die.

"So fucking close, please, _please_ let me come, I'll do whatever you want, I'll suck your dick, let you fuck me, you can fuck my ass I don't even care, _please_ , I'm so close." Rey was babbling and she was begging and she didn't even care because all he had to do was stroke her clit just a little more and she would come hard and he would watch her, and maybe he would give her more words and that was what she wanted more than anything else.

"I'll let you come," he said quietly, "but first I want you to tell me what you did."

Rey's mind reeled with aroused confusion. "Huh?"

"What you did that you think would get you in trouble."

Hot anger bubbled up in Rey’s chest, and she lifted her right foot and placed it against Ben’s shoulder. 

“You don’t get to do that to me,” she snarled. “Nobody does. So you either give me my fucking orgasm or you get the hell out so I can finish my fucking song.”

Ben stared at her, unmoving, for several seconds, strains of Fleetwood Mac reaching them briefly from under the floor before somebody turned down the volume of the ancient record player. She wondered momentarily if she’d made a mistake. He had gone to prison for a violent crime. She didn’t know him. Had she misread the situation? Would he actually hurt her? But then his fingers pressed inside her again, and the corner of his mouth turned up. 

“That’s fair enough,” he said with a nod. 

“Good,” she said, placated, and lowered her foot back onto the edge of the sofa. 

“I still want to know,” Ben whispered, setting his thumb back on her clit and rubbing a tender circle around it. “I want to know your secrets. I want to _know you_ , Rey. Please.”

Rey nodded, lifted her hips, and gasped out, “more poem.”

Ben finished his recitation sounding as though he was in physical pain.

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_

_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_

_Only then I am human_

_Only then I am clean_

_Amen, Amen, Amen_

He stopped; that was the end. 

“Rey,” he murmured, his fingers and thumb moving in tandem, a steady sensation of warmth radiating from where he stroked her, down her legs and up her torso, under her skin, making her feel as though her very soul was vibrating. He ran his free hand up and down the back of her thigh, from her butt all the way up to her knee. His strokes were tender, not demanding, and it made her feel safe. 

Now that he was quiet she was free to let herself go, make noise of her own, and her whines and gasps seemed to encourage him to increase his ministrations, stroking harder and faster, and as he did he encouraged her.

“Come on, baby,” he cooed, “come for me, I want to see you, hear you, feel you on my fingers. _Please_.”

It was the "please" that did it; Rey's orgasm hit with a sudden rush of warmth, she felt as though she was being broken open and spilling out, all of her, for the first time in forever. It loosened her body and as her feet and hands scrambled against the sofa's scratchy fabric and intense pleasure washed over her, her mouth loosened too.

"I.. I killed my fo- foster father," she moaned. It was a chore, speaking through her orgasm, but she manged to do it - even though she stuttered a bit. Ben bit his lip, tilted his head, and worked her through it. "I - _fuck_ \- I pushed him down the stairs and told… _hng_ , told everybody it was an accident." She finished with a cry, and allowed her head to fall and rest against the back of the sofa. She felt relieved, physically and emotionally, as though a great burden had been lifted. She felt better than she had in a very long time.

When she reopened her eyes, she found that Ben hadn't even blinked; in fact, his expression was so soft and tender she thought she might cry. He gently pulled his fingers out and pushed her knees together, covered them with her skirt, then gathered her into his arms. She took the opportunity to place her palm against his chest. He was warm, and sturdy, and she could feel his heartbeat, steady and sure under her hand.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Yeah."

He kissed her temple. "Good girl."

Rey laughed. 

“Are you sorry?”

She didn’t even have to think about it. “No. No, I’m not. He deserved it.”

Ben stood and brought her along with him.

"Do you want to sing some more?" He asked. A stream of laughter filtered up through the floor, and Rey remembered Ben's family in the basement below.

"Yeah," she said, toying with the collar of his shirt, "and I'd like to hear you sing, too. But maybe we can go to the attic?"

Ben gave her a grin and a squeeze and carried her out the door. Rey reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, and as he took the first step up the stairs, she shivered in anticipation. She hoped that the rest of him would move as effectively as his hands and mouth did - and given her previous study, she was certain that it would.

**Author's Note:**

> Rey's song is "Movement" and Ben's poem is "Take Me To Church," both of which are songs by Hozier.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, who I will identify once the collection is off anon. She makes life so much better than it would be otherwise, and I love her with my whole heart.


End file.
